Another fine day

I've learned not to assume I'm healed every time things are not too bothersome.  It does make for a good day.

The toxic pill has not created much problem today, nor have the other physical anomalies with which I deal more and more of late.  

Off to a real studio

I like the studios with wide open spaces.  So much is done with computers in living rooms and basements, you don't often find the kind of studio we'll be checking out today.  Maybe they can use me for other things.  Probably not.  

Why Are All The Hot Viola Players, Over Forty, Married?

Alright, here's how it all goes; the violin player wanted to do a few of his own songs, and wanted to play MC when Sande, the front person, is tuning.  All well and good, depending on how you do these things.  It wasn't really in keeping with what this project is, so she said No.  Don't issue ultimatums unless you are ready to walk, or know you will get your way.

He walked.  He thought his ultimatum would win him his way.  But he didn't count on her being as strong as she is. And she is right.  Qhen you try to be special, or more equal than others, watch out.

So there is a couple, friends of Sande; she, a viola player, he a DJ, her husband ergo C. Blocker.
So to speak.  If you are married then no one should even test the water or push anything. Same goes all around.  If you are married, do not be a dweeb or dweeba and screw up. Just don't.

Anyway, here we are doing the first gig with no violin and Sande brings in Karen on the viola, and it was so much more fun than we expected.   Sande ran through the stuff with her yesterday. But without the rest of us, and there are many tunes.  Karen rocked it, and to boot, her husband the DJ tweeked the hodge podge bunch of amps and PA stuff so the sound was better than normal and feedback about it was more precise and critical. Jim.  I have to forgive him for being married to Karen and taking yet another off the market.

I don't care anyway, except it is great playing with her.  We blended well.   I'm still hesitant to pull anyone in, even the unencumbered.  Who wants to deal with days like to day.  Four or five hours it takes to get breakfast and be OK enough to take off.  "Hey, look!!! Didn't throw up blood this time! yay.

Tried to meet a guy at 1:30 at the ranch, before heading to the Spring Valley Inn to play.   I finally was able to get there at about 3:50pm.   Had the gig been an early afternoon thing, I don't think I could have done it.  I don't care what they say, my main troubles are between my diaphragm and throat.  How it ties with wacko blood production I do not know.  But I know I am in closer touch with what is up that any doctor who even hints at doubting me.  Some do.  Some have learned; like guitar players learn that if I say something is out of tune, it is out.  Made many doubters eat crow on that.

This viola player is another classically trained musician.  When they caught our show some weeks back, she and her husband complimented me.  She especially did.  I remember because she said nice enough things that I told her she was my new best friend.  And here we are.  I did not know at that time that she plays.  Whenever I can impress real musicians with my mouth harp, I figure I did it right.  Besides, I consider that what I have evolved into playing is not often done by harmonica players, and I'm somewhat pleased with this direction.

I made up my mind to play as much as I can with people that appreciate what I do.  Tomorrow I hit the studio for the Marine who is the star of the music therapy program they have for vets who need something besides a bunch of insincere, sycophantic "Oh (gush) thank you so much for your service".    Some things can become so generic that they lose their soul, and the ring of true feeling and passion.

Anyway, last night and this morning were not the piece of cake I prefer.  I am no stranger to hardship, but I think of myself as one, so little troubles always throw me for a loop.  I am always surprised that I, of all people, should have any difficulty.  I'm just not the type to be visited with misfortune.

My current saga with the soap opera disease which may not go away soon, or ever, actually has positively influenced my outlook, and even my behavior--sometimes.  I do not ask questions about mortality rates or how my particular complications influence things. I've done research.  I know what I test, and what has probably been missed and how it could work, best case.  So, I know where I am and I am quite happy to do my best to achieve certain very personal goals.  They aren't big things, except to me.

Oh man, I heard a girl today, aty the ranch--is it OK to say girl? or better to say I heard a wo-perbeing (must not say wo MAN, or perSon.  That is sexist. So perbeing, and if you have to push it, woperbeing.

I don't know how to eliminate the word "man" if man is the topic of the sentence.  Perbeing with outie.  Who knows.  God help us if they get too carried away with the official international picture language for illiterates.   Not so easy to read in all cases.

I never finished the sentence or thought above. This perbeing, with innie, named Chas, just blew Dan and I away at the Ranch.  I did play a little with her but mostly sat out because the tasty resonator and electric guitar backing her acoustic and rich full voice were all she needed.  They were keeping it soft and subtle and perfect.  One of those times when I felt listening was the thing to do.  Some things do better without me.  Knowing that gives me a smug sense of satisfaction because I know when not to add unnecessary things to a piece, whereas many do not.

Tough day, beautiful night.  Let us hope I timed food and toxicity so that I sleep through it tonight.
People with real issues and real chemo madness must be far tougher than I.  I couldn't do it.  It takes too much effort and planning.  And some stay sick all the time.  I'll bet playing this music helps me.  Even if you hate this music, which you shouldn't do, the act of doing what I do has to be helpful. I work out the diaphragm and lungs, and various muscles up there. And the vibrations are inhaled as much or more than exhaled.  That has to shake thing up internally.  We hope and believe it is for the good.

Whatever is Kava, I'm In

Last night I met a friend at a Kava bar.  I did not sample any kava, but I did have green juice and a gilled cheeses with avocado and something. It was good.

So, I ended up sitting in with both acts.  One of them has studio time at a very nice studio, and has asked me to come out and lay down some tracks.  I am looking forward to that.

Surprisingly, there are not many real studios around.  Everyone is recording in the their living room with a laptop and some software.  I haven't seen a real studio since Memphis.

Not that some of the home studios aren't good.  But they aren't making money off of their recordings, for the most part.   Just gives you something people can hear when you are seeking gigs which will probably never pay your cost of recording.  That is cynical, but true.

I cannot wait until automatic tuners are mainstream; a device that maintains the tuning automatically because it can't stand it when the guitar player has out of tune strings any more than I can.

They already have them somewhere for big bucks.   I wonder if they just hate to tune or if it does not bother them.  Or both   Shudder.

The Kava bar was mostly academic looking twenty somethings with a plethora of tattoos and great attitudes.  It worked out.  Easy to talk which most people did, but also easy to listen to the music if you cared to.  I think I was happy to play somewhere other than a bar.  Plus, I was just sitting in, as asked, so no obligation or responsibility.  Is that the definition of utopia?  I guess plenty of food and shelter need to be in the mix. And a car.  But other than that, it defines utopia.

Racially in Solidarinosc,

No one can do that embarrassing thing of talking about "white boys playing the blues" again in my presence.  Usually if I'm on stage when they do that, I ask who they are calling white.    Or I comment that "you people" are always bringing race into it.

Well I'm taking the same stuff you take if you have sickle cell anemia.  That is extremely hip, egalitarian, and solidarinosc out the yingyang.   So, where's the friggin' white privilege in that?

I fully understand the white privilege concept.  The problem is that much of it is false and pure political manipulation.   Unless you treat people equally under the law, and do not punish some and reward others based on condition of birth, things will always be hostile and tense.

Hostile and tense people are easy to control.  Once you convince a group that their trials in life are all the fault of another group, they are easily led using victim psychology.  They will kill for you, never knowing they are being used.  Well orchestrated fomentation of hatred ensures that.

The charlatans exploiting and creating racial tension are from both races.  I love it when some white celebrity or political figure rants about something being "just a bunch of white guys", or "nothing but white faces" blababla.  The old self-hatred-so-I-am-not-really-white card.   If only that were true...  But the positive part is that your existence prevents me from getting all chauvinistic regarding my race.  (the word chauvinist, per se, has zero to do with male or female.  So many people are clueless about that)

Once again, race is not a virtue.  Neither is your sex, lack of any gender identity, or what have ya.

However, now that I am in solidarinosc, I may reconsider.   This is why I am so soulful.  Well, and because I am a documented mutated person.  Part of me, anyway. Next craze?  Mutant music.  More soulful than soul, more everything.

Seriously, it is probably not common for someone to leave an office cheering with the news that I cheered. But this type of trouble leaves a little more wiggle room for hope than the other possible choices.  I don't have sickle cell, which means this new drug was working before I even took it.

Played a test run tonight at the open mic without the fiddle, who split the group. Of course it gets back that he's talking BS.  Too bad.  No need to spin it or try to make anyone seem bad.  He left because he wanted to be more special than the three other sidemen. Happens all the time with groups.  That is why so many very talented people never really see any action or even the inside of a studio. Ego, and foggy view of their best place.  I have that too.

But I have paid attention to my favorite harp players and how they did things.  Much of even Lee Oskar's career was as a side man for War and others.  He was good at it.  And the smartest of all is Willie's harp player.  It takes very good sense to stick with a good group, and don't worry about being the big bright light.  Just help the others make the song sound good.  Funny how it takes a libertarian to know when group action makes sense.

Mickey has had a great run, and far more stability and breadth of music than the usual harp fronted band.  Good sideman harp is an art and not all that common.

I wanted to do a short post but I got carried away.  The exuberance of a little wiggle room and no immediate indication of the definitely don't buy any green bananas stuff.

So much of my effort with this group has been laying down fat chords, many of them split, so the fiddle can play freely without clash.  I did not find he was ever pleased when requirement or chance for turn about presented itself.  It is rare to find people who get the blend, and if a player feels superior due to training or just because, it won't happen because they don't respect me.

A rare occurrence but it happens.  I'm not sure the fiddle respects me as a player.  Fortunately most others do.  And it may not have to do with playing.  That is what I think.  When people want to change me or bulldoze me, I know what is up.  Been around the block. So, now I call it out.  Maybe that is why he left, though that is no one's official story.  I'm glad of that.

I do think I was central to his decision in some way, but it is perfect that to indicate that would be a bad PR move for him, so he has not said that, as far as I know.  But he was encouraged to stay.  He split, and Sande wasted no time removing him from the band pic on facebook and from any written material about the group.  She is not doing it as anger or revenge.  She is right.  I like it that she is strong about drawing certain lines, and decisive with these things.  Strong woman, that one.

So, now I am changing how I play again.  Somewhat more of a hybrid thing. But it is taking some experimentation; trial and error.  If you don't take chances and try things, you don't know.  It settles in soon enough.

Dracula vs House

I forgot to mention that my esteemed hematologist, Dr. Dracula is clearly a proud graduate of the Dr Gregory House school of bedside manner and client charming.  The good thing is that I do not put up with it.

We had a minor dispute the first visit, over some material that I had ordered sent to his office from another bureaucratic medical facility.  It took all morning with many calls back and forth because many dimwits are in the loop and they screw thing sup, lie, and forget.

Anyway, I knew it had arrived.  But the info never made its way to him.  I convinced him to go check, over his superior-toned protests.  Finally he says, "Oh, you were right".  I replied, "Of course I was right!!  I would not have told you that if I had the slightest doubt!"  Then something else came up and he had to back pedal.  He is good but a little rushed.

This last time he tried to be gruff and brusk, and when he finished telling me was what, he wondered if I was thoroughly confused.   No, I am an astute patient.  He raised his eyebrows and suggested I'd be the first in thirty years.  "Your lucky day!"  I love it when I can confuse the ego of a guy like that.
It is fun.
Definitely a House candidate though, but he doesn't limp or appear to be on drugs, unless maybe some form of speed or cocaine.

It's a Miracle or something

This is my second attempt.  I wrote one post but I felt it would be boring and too long.

I've been waiting to hear whether I have multiple myeloma or some other bone marrow type of cancer.   The blood being produced is wacko.  That is the latin for not quite right.

What kept throwing them off was the very anemic condition of the fluid in my veins.   Various disorders in the blood factory (bone marrow) can be the culprit, they were thinking.  But what's up with this anemia situation?  The boy claims he does not menstruate.  They looked askance as I denied it over and over.

Finally they decided the lad was leaking a little blood from upper intestines, and it posed no real problem. Nothing worth fixing there.  And it fit with the idea that too much blood may be produced but an anemic condition still persists.  They need to fit stuff into a category in order to categorically deal with it.

Fortunately no weirdness showed up in a bone scan--still glowing from that xray.  I thought it would be cheaper to just go to my friendly local TSA.

Then they find out I am a mutant.  That is no surprise and it pleases me deep down.(if you had been my pal in college, you would see the humor and irony--inside joke I guess) They test for a mutated gene marker, JAK2, it calls itself.  Oh, that is a sure sign of polycythemia vera.  Yippee, you do not have multiple myeloma or other nasty death sentence condition.  So far.  It can go there, but maybe will not. Not any time too soon anyway.

I take a toxic pill that impedes cell production and hopefully lets me keep my hair and become more functional.  They monitor, tweak dose, etc.  But it is not like radiation and chemo or something that only a bone marrow transplant can cure.  That is what it looked like we were into.

This is not curable or wonderful, just by itself.  But in context, this is unbelievably good news.  I am so friggin thrilled, I'd probably kiss you if you were here.  Depending on what "you" is.  With a little more luck, maybe I won't have adverse reaction to this toxic pill and all will remain under control.  It very often does work out that way with this trouble.  Polycythemia vera/ and sort of essential thrombocytosis.  

I find it amazing that my body already has been getting rid of blood in a benign sort of way because that is the first step; they bleed you.  In my case there is no need.  Is that bizarre or what?  Some would call that a case of syncronicity because the forces of nature, God, angels and the like tend to treat me with special care.  I get the interesting breaks.  That is how my fortune works.

Some call it luck. Who knows.  I'm the guy who would be unlucky enough, or dumb enough, to fall off a tall building and land on a soft plant or awning, so instead of dying I'd just break a few bones.

It has been said that for an unlucky guy I am the luckiest guy around.  I think I get that.
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Wishful Thinking

Just five hours ago I was going to write that I felt almost cured.   Even though it is not hot, I guess the 80% humidity got the best of me at 4A.M.  I tried the acetaminophen trick.  It inexplicably helps some people with this sort of weirdo skin sensations.  I feel like it helped me the last few days.
Definitely not a cure-all.

I'm still wondering if it is a placebo effect of some kind.  I do not think so.  For some reason that particular drug does something to ease the skin attacks.  However it was a foreigner on the aquagenic pruritis forum who claimed ot was working for him.

And can we be sure to trust foreigners?  Especially if they talk English english? I'm sure you share my tendency to be skeptical of such people.

It looks like I will not be writing that I feel so good, maybe I am almost cured.  Maybe next time.

In other news, I think the fiddler is quitting our project.  The Sande(pronounced Sand ee.) project.   He wants to do more of his own material and he doesn't like being rebuked when he commandeers a microphone, mine for example, when Sande retunes her guitar, and starts playing MC, and semi-front man.

He's a good entertainer, but sometimes doesn't know he is stepping on toes.  I let him know how I felt about it.   Mostly how it is done more than what is done.  I turn around to switch harps and when I turn back he is just in front of me yakking on my mic.  The sound man re-qadjusted it because he talked so much.  Then I went to play and it was like an explosion as ear drums in the room burst.

You do that, you have to accept that someone might say don't do that.

It is the front man compulsion.  Some people can front when it is called for, then happily go back to being a supporting player when that makes sense, with no qualms.  He likes to be the front.  But as talented as he is, I do not think his original material,  at least what I've heard is the kind that grabs you and stands apart.  But he wants to work on his own stuff and says he is not growing.

I guess I saw it coming, but I kind of thought he'd more be finding a way to get me out, since I am not sure he valued the unique blend as much as I, as well as others, did.

I am not that pleased with this turn of events.  I thought his contribution to the sound was really important.  So, now she'll replace him.  There is only one violin I would go for but I'm alone in that.  She'll go for another guy who will be happy to be there, but I doubt I can work well with, so I expect I'll get booted.  Maybe not.  There is a young lady who plays violin, on occasion, with people I know, and she is pure magic to me.  Like a siren of sorts.

Her tone is like honey, and she is subtle and plays what I would play were I to play that instrument.

For now, I don't know.  I will just work it out.

Today we find out what this visit is about.  More accurately, bone scan and mutant test results will be revealed.   If he pulled me in six weeks earlier than planned for nothing, I will not like that.  Dracula is not the type to do a lot of stupid things, I don't think.

Also, I get to play for the Lutherans tonight will Kev and Lauren.  I'm singing harmony on the song as much as playing on it.  Crazy.  But I didn't want the Lutherans to forget me.  I am after all the official harmonica player for the Lutherans and Mormons.  Moreso the Lutherans these days.

My own church, the order of everlasting fertility rites, has turned their back on me.

Best Laid Plans ; part mmxv

For reasons beyond our control, the Hard Rock Cafe gig for this evening was canceled.  Had nothing to do with my bad behavior, fear of our noise, etc.  Details are unimportant and I would be making them up anyway.  I know it was canceled and that it had to do with things other than us.

Not like it was a show at Shea stadium, or even Qualcomm.

Last night was OK.  The stage has bright lights everywhere and the ceiling is super low throughout the place.  Lower on stage because it is raised and the ceiling is the same all through the place.

The lights are hot, and my usual spot on stage was hot with no air circulation whatsoever.  There is a four inch square in the ceiling on the opposite side which shoots cold air straight down. No louvers or any sort of grill.

I had to position myself over there,  I could feel the itch attack wanting to come on and that was my only hope if I was to be able to play even one set.  Maybe one song.  So, we worked it out.  It made me almost irrational in my frustration.  I was so mad I had to have the special spot. It is becoming harder and harder to cope with any warm temp or high humidity.  Lately I'm way too sensitive to all of it.

I hope they keep over-booking the house.  That way I just do a few things in between guests and go home.  The new manager does not know I have issues going on.  I will have to tell him soon.  I need to find a back up worker, but people either have transportation issues or they just aren't geared to handle it, or something.  If you understand how it works, it is a cushy job with a halfway decent wage.

I just want back up, not to lose the job if I don't have to.  I'm concerned we are headed that direction unless I find a better way to contain the attacks. Any more--for ages now--I cannot wear a short sleeved shirt or it will start in my exposed forearms.  It's nuts, but unfortunately, I do not think it is psychosomatic.  It would be interesting to see if hypnosis could play a role in negating the discomfort.

It is an overall thing besides the specific problem areas.  You can feel your face get hot and that sort of thing. Part of the program.

So, it was an OK show.  I was angry and humiliated at the same time for requiring the spot under the vent.  My playing was mediocre. At best.  Overall not our best and far from our worst.

I am not fond of bars.  Last night was Navajo Live, a bar.  Nice in a way, but too much of a bar in a way.  Even as a drunk I did not like bars.  I spent a lot of time in them, but I recall saying to friends while there, "$%^& Bars suck!!!  You know, if they didn't serve alcohol, no way I'd hang around a bar!!"   Profound.  That was the peak of my reasoning power back then.  I quit.

And I certainly never missed the bar.  Bars are not me.  They suit some people.  No thanks.

But, a nice bunch of people came out to see us and support us.  Mockingbird showed up, Tara and Diego.  I think Mockingbird is a terrific name, myself.  And they are a delight. Really.  They are some of the cool kids of the Americana scene.  I call it that.  Chuck calls it that, and he knows this stuff.

We don't know and neither does anyone else.  I csall it Americana fusion.  Friend Vicki calls it Root Rock, but after hearing root used in the Australian way, I thought it a little bit too X.  Still, that does have its charm.

Call things whatever.  I'd say it is the least over-produced, over-amped and aesthetically affected genre of semi popular music.  Most people just like to play it and that is all.  Plus very few are drunks and reprobates.

The blues crowd around SD is nice enough but largely dominated by people putting on affectations; just the right look.  The look that says, "Look at me.  I look like a badass, so maybe you'll think I'm a badass."  Must be lots of peer pressure because their are room fulls of players who have the same hat, the same facial hair, the same harmonica licks, same songs.

I thought I was blues for many years.  I see now that I am far from it.  I'm more like Manheim steamroller on a diatonic harmonica.  But that is a new thing.  Even a year ago I wasn't playing this style.  It serves many purposes.  One of which is that it allows me to exert less while laying down big platform for the violin to just run.  I do my solo when needed, but not like I might.  This is working out.  It must not be as easy as I think because I met a seasoned player who told me that, though I play a different style from him, he can't even do half the stuff I do with apparent ease.  Big compliment I thought.  He had no idea how nice it was to hear that at the time.

Now I forget our next gig.  Outdoor festival in May.  How I will handle that I am not sure, although I will find a way.

It seems like we may have something on the 29th of this month.

Too bad about Hard Rock; I was shocked at the number of people who said they planned to go.  Downtown, 5pm.  Rush hour.  Nice place though.  I hope our small group of fans doesn't give up on us.

I ought to be writing profound thoughts.  What if I kick soon and have only whining and bitching left in print?   I can just hear Joel now giving me the Charlie Brown authority figure talk.  You know what I mean.  Authority figures in Charlie Brown always sound like muted trumpets  No offense Joel, but I ignore it when people bitch about stuff I can't change.

More people have tried to change me over the years than should have.  I rarely try to change anyone.  I try not to because I do not know what their best path is and I am not their owner.  They are the owners of their lives so it is up to them to handle it how they see fit.  Then again, maybe I am so manipulative that I trick even myself, while not realizing I am trying to change people.  I do that well, actually.

I'll probably be around too long to piss off survivors, anyway.  By the time I kick they'll probably substitute targeted tickling of specific parts of the brain for reading or movies or plays, any of that.  I'll refuse to get the tickle device installed and I'll die a 120 year old freedom fighter.  It will be an honorable exit.  Full of valor, purpose, drama, and rebellion.  OK.

Something to look forward to.  All the in between is just roadside sightseeing.

But here's the deal.  If Joel lived in SD county, he could handle backing me up on this job and wind up with independent projects for himself along the way.  If he could maintain a flexible mind and outlook.  I worry about rigidity there.  I tried to teach the kid all I know, but you never can be sure they listen well enough to pick it up.

One can only hope.

That would solve my work issue and someone I trust would be in the loop.  Got no place for him to live or I'd send a post paid box and suggest he mail himself out here to help me keep the job with the people who made Barry what he is today.

I'm not in any spot to be host or even gracious.  This heat is not helping.  For me in the seventies is hot, and in the sixties is almost too warm.
Except for the times when that is suddenly, temporarily not the case.  Those times last up to an hour, on a good day.

I feel like a faker.  I'm trying to make the band thing work but I feel as if I can't be sure I can do it on any given day.  Same with work.  I could not strip and sand and finish a large item of teak right now.  Only if I have ample time with no witnesses. This sucks. And the family, highly toxic, dysfunctional family of the housekeeper, whom she has managed to get on the pay as her "sometimes helpers" seems out for my job.  Her son is a psychopath, I'm pretty sure.  I won't go into all of it.

Suffice to say what was a great co-worker thing became strained as soon as they realized I may be sick and having troubles.  I will still kick them into next week if ever there is a safe opportunity (free of law enforcement) to do so.
The housekeeper, herself, is kind of turning a blind eye to the rest of the crew's antics, but she will tiptoe around her son forever.  Matters not how out of line he is.  Maybe the manager figured out that they padded hours like crazy during the management change.  So blatant.  Pure theft.

I've never seen a work situation in which going to the boss about colleagues being bad people ever worked out.  It doesn't matter what they did.  You lose.  You let the boss come to you, and then you let him form his own view.  Or you implant the view into his mind, all the while managing to let him think it is his idea.  I'm thinking in terms of current manager,  He.

Those opportunities are hard to find.  Hoping to be ready when opportunity knocks is all I can do.
I can't go much longer without cluing him in on what is happening.

I never realized how much there is to like about life.  But the part of how it works when you have zero money can be a challenge.  There are people who live out in the woods without much money.  But the woods probably doesn't bring on uncomfortable, or intolerable whatnot.
So, there you have it!

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If You Are Lucky Enough to Live Out Here

..then you may be lucky enough.

The music situation is remarkable.  Very good players who just like to play and have a good time.  Many have some kind of impressive history, but that is not worn like a badge.  They like to play, that is all.

And it is the best thing for me, so I did well landing here.  I knew I did.   If only I had not allowed a mess to develop.  How did that ever happen?

I Really Want A Smoke

My imagination and google searches are going wild.  Except I only use google when I have to or when I am tricked.  They are too intrusive.  It is crazy.  I use other search engines like bing or startpage.

Anyway, I was reviewing the pathologist's little editorial and it almost shook me a bit. But only after I searched each term.  So, what is the lesson here?

I'll tell you what the lesson is.  Unless you will find the answers which are the ones you want, do not ask the question.  Is that so hard to remember?  Apparently, if you are I, or I am you, then OK, yes I don't know it. I forget this thing.

See how that goes?  This is what happens when you've been around the block and all you want is to get a handle on the mess and clutter and shameful lack of household care.  That is it, pretty much.  That is the hardest of my goals.   You may think, "Oh, your goals must be really easy.", but you'd be wrong.  My Kryptonite is the household normal cleaning and straightening neatness.  I freeze and am rendered helpless when confronted with domestic clutter and chaos.

The end result was that I wanted a cigarette as if I smoke them regularly and smoking is clearly the best response to everything that doesn't fall under my direct and immediate control.   But now I no longer want one.  I do not smoke any more.  One year and over three months.  A record for me, if you don't count the eighteen or nineteen years I was smoke free.  Those first 18 or 19 years.

I have to avoid any sort of giving in.  That is why playing with Sande and the group is so good.  It forces me to do more than I am sure I can do.  That is the best thing.  No way I want to think I am too whatever to play.

You can keep the smoke that I was going to borrow.